


Dry Bones

by lafillechanceuse



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Bad Puns, F/F, Female Friendship, Gen, Humor, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:18:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6254404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafillechanceuse/pseuds/lafillechanceuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall of her Circle, Dagna the arcanist joins the Inquisition. On her journey with the Bull's Chargers back to Skyhold, they join forces with the Inquisitor to root some Venatori out of a necropolis near the Nevarran border and end up trapped inside. </p><p>Somehow, she manages to save the day and get the girl all the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dry Bones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [openended](https://archiveofourown.org/users/openended/gifts).



Raising a hand to shield her eyes, Dagna squinted into the early morning light.

  
Grey. The quiet in the eye of a hurricane.

  
The blacksmith and her wife wouldn’t be up for another hour or two, but the letter from the Inquisition’s spymaster said that they would be coming for her just as the sun rose over the horizon. Shivering, Dagna wondered what was in store. She had built up a reputation, certainly, but an escort seemed unnecessary. Carta assassins wouldn’t waste their time in the backwaters of the Free Marches, not with the false trail she carefully left in her wake.

  
The motley crew on horseback approaching the gate startled her into alertness. A quick headcount gave her eight people. No banner flew; she appreciated their discretion. The redheaded female dwarf who headed up the party dismounted a yard away and trotted forward to greet her, freckles glistening in the first pink of the dawn.

  
“Good morning. Are you the arcanist?”

  
Dagna unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth.  

  
“Yes! I am. I’m Dagna. ”  

  
“Scout Harding. Lace Harding. We’re with the Inquisition. We’re here to escort you to Skyhold.” She gestured to the company behind her, then nodded towards the biggest Qunari Dagna had ever seen in her life and the man standing beside him. “These are The Bull’s Chargers, who work under our banner. This is The Iron Bull, and his lieutenant Cremisius Aclassi.”

  
“As the horns would imply,” Bull said cheerfully, inclining his head slightly to Dagna. “Scout Harding’s the one in charge of this operation. We’re just along for the ride to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

  
“Good to have you with us.” Krem nodded.

  
“Thank you.”

  
Hearing the reports out of Haven had shook everyone to the core. It made sense that the Inquisitor would do anything in her power to prevent another disaster. Dagna took a deep breath, counted to eight, and then exhaled. She hadn’t known what she was getting herself into when she decided to study at the Circle, she reminded herself. It couldn’t be any worse than getting kicked out of Orzammar.

  
“I’ve packed my things and said my goodbyes.”

  
She would miss the inn, she thought. If nothing else, it had given her a sense of familiarity, an anchor in the chaos of her Circle dissolving. The blacksmith hadn’t needed another pair of hands and Stone knew after that explosion to keep the Carta assassins off her tail in Tantervale, she was more of a risk than an asset, but they let her stay. Alone in the forge in the wee hours, she periodically wondered if her father had sent them to repay her gratitude. Dagna shifted her balance from one foot to the other, the sovereign they had pressed into her hands the night before burning a hole in her pocket. Lace nodded.

  
“Good. It’ll take us about a month to get back, less if we’re able to get fresh horses midway.”    

  
“It’s more of a concern for the rest of us, miss, not you,” Dalish piped up from the back. “Worst comes to worst, you’ll have an escort while the rest of us wait for them. Your mount’s a bit special that way.”

  
She beamed in their direction. Realization slowly dawned upon Krem’s face.

  
“I, uh--I’ll just go get my bags.”

  
As soon as Dagna was out of earshot, Krem rounded on Dalish.  

  
“You going to share with the rest of us what in the void you were thinking?” He hissed.

  
“You said we needed to make a memorable first impression.” She replied primly.

  
“So you brought the bog unicorn?”

  
“There’s another mount here if she doesn’t want to ride it.”

  
“Which one?”    

  
“The oath bound steed.”

  
“ _Two_? You brought _two_ undead horses with swords sticking through their heads as mounts?”  

  
“She’s an arcanist.” Dalish lifted her chin defensively. “I thought she’d appreciate it. You don’t see that every day.”

  
“It’s unnatural and unhygienic.”

  
“ _You’re_ unnatural and--”

  
A meaningful cough from The Iron Bull quieted their would-be squabble. “I did ask you to delegate, Krem,” he reminded his lieutenant in a gentle undertone. Krem ducked his head and scowled, but said nothing. “I didn’t see a problem when you picked Dalish. Besides, looks like she made the right choice. “

  
Utterly transfixed, Dagna stared up at the bog unicorn, her eyes bright as a delighted grin threatened to split her face in half. “Wow,” she breathed, one hand reverently reaching up to offer her outstretched palm, luggage forgotten. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. I’ve only read books in the Circle and those were more like theoretical treatises—no one ever actually had found any animals that were kept alive without a mage’s aid. Some said they’d all end up abominations, so there was no point in trying. Did you name it?”

   
The bog unicorn gently nuzzled at her hand, a soft whuff of air that only faintly smelled like dead horse blown through its nostrils.

“The Inquisitor did,” Lace clarified. “She named it Clay, short for Claymore. Once she figured it out, she whispered it to herself, then laughed herself sick for a good five minutes.”

  
“Yeah, that sounds like Cadash,” Bull chuckled.  

  
“Could I take samples?”

  
“Sure. They’re dead. Not like it’ll hurt ‘em.”

  
“We should get going before she does,” Lace pointed out.  

  
“Got it,” Krem said. Bull grinned and gave her a lazy salute before picking up Dagna’s bags and tying them to the bog unicorn’s saddle as it stood there placidly. Lace gave Dagna a hand up, then mounted her pony.

  
“All good, everyone?”

  
“Whenever you’re ready, Harding.”

  
Dagna frowned, leaning forward slightly. “The Inquisitor does know it’s not a claymore stuck in its forehead, right?”

  
“The Inquisitor’s been through a lot,” Lace said with a heavy sigh. “More than anyone should, so, we tend to give her a pass.” She offered Dagna a wry smile as she nudged her mount up to the front.

  
“Hope you like Nevarra. You’ll be seeing a lot of it.”

* * *

 

Lace was right.

  
For a country with a population that was three quarters dead, there was a lot of Nevarra to pass through. Dalish had reassured Dagna that the Imperial Highway, had they been able to travel it, bored most of its travelers to tears and she would have preferred their current scenic route through the forests and border towns. Still, Dagna wished they could visit one of the necropolises for her to procure tissue samples to compare and contrast with the bog unicorn.

  
“I just know their enchantments have similar properties,” she lamented to Rocky one night. “All I need is a few slices to check, not even a eighth of a pound of flesh.”

  
“Wouldn’t you have better luck with the oath bound steed?”

  
“Most necromantic enchantments start out the same way. The method application might be different depending on who’s doing it, but you’ve got the same base across the board ‘cause when you get right down to it, there aren’t a lot of ways to reanimate a dead body. Samples in the South are just more…difficult to come by.”

  
“And in Tevinter?”

  
Lace asked, offering up a plate of stew. Dagna took it with a grateful nod.

  
“I burned bridges.”

  
She admitted after a few bites.

  
“Tevinter depends on us for their lyrium supply, but they don’t like anyone who actually knows as much about their magic as they do. It was my first visit to another Circle and I really wanted to impress their first enchanter. I didn’t take his theory right apart in front of his face, but when I pointed out a problem and explained how I had worked around it and showed him what I’d done when we were alone…he kind of blew up in my face.”

  
“What, really?”

  
“I wasn’t supposed to find his mistakes. I’d overstepped my bounds enough by being the dwarf in a Circle. Our first enchanter offered to speak for me publically, but I thought, I’d offended him already, what’s the worst that could happen?” Dagna put down her spoon to shrug, then picked it up again. “I was permanently banished from that circle, but it made me realize just how little anyone outside one knows about magic. So, I started looking over my notes and I sat in again on apprentice lessons. I wrote out a pamphlet on some basic principles people should know, concepts that are fundamental to anyone’s understanding of magic. Then, I published it and got banned by half the Circles in Thedas.”

  
She said it cheerfully, but her grip on her spoon tightened as her gaze swept over the group. Her eyes lingered for a moment on The Iron Bull, who had been listening intently along with the rest. Lace rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. Dagna relaxed when she sensed no hostility and went on.

  
“So, that was supposed to be the end of that, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not very good at shutting up.”

  
The brief round of chuckles heartened her.

  
“I wasn’t saying anything that no one had ever said before; that knowledge had just never left the Circles. I kept writing, anyway. Longer pamphlets with the short ones, papers, treatises. You’ve probably at least heard of some of it. I moved around to conduct my research, so there was no one for me to answer to. I was too valuable to dispose of, though people tried. I got lucky that a member of the College of Enchanters defended me. I…I hope she made it out safely, though I can’t imagine anyone getting the better of her.”

  
“Who was she?”

  
“Only the most brilliant alchemical mind of our time! And she encouraged my work and helped me refine it. I still can’t believe I got to meet her.” She sighed dreamily. “First Enchanter Vivienne of Montsimmard.”

  
“You’re in luck,” said Lace brightly. “She was one of the first to join us. I think she’s traveling with the Inquisitor now, actually.”  

  
“Oh, that’s wonderful! I can’t wait to see her again.” Dagna coughed, then rubbed the back of her neck.

  
 “Wow. I didn’t mean to tell you my life story.”

  
“Not at all! It was exciting. Very noble. Rocky here just blew up the Shaperate and got kicked out of Orzammar.” Krem flashed her a good-natured grin, putting a hand on Lace’s knee to balance himself as he dodged Rocky’s elbow to the ribs.

  
“It was an _accident_!”

  
“You didn’t do anything any dwarf hasn’t dreamed of doing at least once,” Dagna quipped.

  
“You blow up one tiny bit of the Shaperate and all of a sudden, you’re casteless.”

  
Rocky folded his arms. The Chargers took care to keep their friendly bickering among themselves, but Dagna knew by now that if left to his own devices, he would sulk for the rest of the night. She leaned forward and patted his knee, the grin that slowly spread across her face threatening to permanently stretch it to its limits.

  
“Aw, don’t be like that, salroka. All I had to do was leave Orzammar. At least you went out with a _bang_.”

  
Rocky recoiled in horror as The Iron Bull cackled gleefully, the rest of the Chargers groaning. Lace clutched at her chest while laughing despite herself. “I’m not sure whether I’m laughing in pain or at how good your setup was.”

  
“I’ll take either! Your reaction is enough.”

  
No one in any of the Circles she had been in had ever been able to admit they appreciated bad jokes in public. Maybe she had really found her people at last. “But enough about me. You got any stories to share?”

  
“I lived through a blight. Your stories are better.” Lace smiled, but it was tight around the edges.

  
“Gotcha. Least you know now I’m not some stuck-up deep lord, right?”

  
Her laughter warmed Dagna from the inside out better than any fire.

* * *

  
The next morning, Dagna woke to the smell of smoked meat and low voices by the fire. From where she lay, if she angled her head just right, she could see The Iron Bull and Lace sitting beside each other. The raven perched on Lace’s knee arched its head into her fingertips, cawing as she scratched it absentmindedly.  

  
“It came in last night before dusk.”

  
Bull slid off one of the smoked fish filets into the flatbread from the skillet set up over the fire pit and wrapped it, handing it to her.  “Careful.”

  
“Thanks. So what’s this mean for us?”

  
“Not much. Boss is maybe a day or two away, so we can take things a little slower. Means we’ll have to get back on the Imperial Highway for a bit, but I know a shortcut that can get us to them quick enough.”

  
“Then once this is done, we can cut through the Exalted Plains and head back to Val Royeaux,” Lace said thoughtfully, biting into her wrap. “Nevarra’s pretty, but the sooner we’re back in Ferelden, the better.”

  
“Aw, you miss your turnips?”

  
The Iron Bull chuckled when she punched his bicep.

  
“Ass. Don’t get me wrong. I’d like it if we stuck around in some of the places we’ve been through. It’s just….”

  
“Humans and not letting their dead rest.”

  
The Iron Bull huffed, shaking his head.

  
“If Red doesn’t up your hazard pay, I’m gonna riot.”

  
“From your mouth to Andraste’s ears.”

  
The two shared a grin before he grunted and got to his feet, stretching.  

  
“All right. Krem should be done tending to the horses. I’m gonna go brief him and fetch water.”

  
“I’ll send word to Sister Leliana. We’ll leave in two hours.”   

  
Dagna lay in her bedroll for a few more minutes to ensure the illusion of privacy, then got up and set about packing up her things. By the time she emerged from the tent, several more flatbread fish wraps were ready, a plate of leftover hearth cakes from yesterday beside them.

  
“Morning!”

  
Lace perked up slightly, offering her the plate. The raven on her knee attempted to grab one, squawking when she shooed it away with one hand and flapping over to the horses.  

  
“Morning.”

  
“What’s shaping?”

  
“We’re going to be meeting the Inquisitor sooner than expected. She’s coming with her party from the Exalted Plains in Orlais. Apparently, the Venatori presence in Nevarra holed up in a necropolis a couple hours away from the border. We were hoping to avoid the Imperial Highway, but—“

  
She shrugged, almost helplessly.

  
“At least you’ll be even safer?”

  
Dagna nibbled at a hearth cake.

  
“Sounds exciting. I can hold my own if I need to.”

  
“Good.” She nodded distantly.

  
“You okay?”

  
“I’m…not exactly comfortable being that close to that many undead.”

  
“Can’t blame you there. Necromancy’s a pretty specialized field. Even in Tevinter, most mages wouldn’t touch it with a ten foot pole. If it makes you feel any better, we probably won’t be that close to them.”

  
“Oh yeah?”

  
“First story’s where they have the chantry. Everything else is underground. I bet they didn’t think to go down. We’ll just breeze through the top floor and move on. You guys are pretty good at that, right?”

  
Dagna wiggled her eyebrows. That got a chuckle out of her.

  
“You don’t know the half of it, but you’ve got a front row seat. Hope you’re ready for it. It’s going to get messy.”

  
“Oh, I’m always prepared for splatter.” Dagna proudly held up the goggles attached to her belt. “Made these myself. Enchantments for masterworks require a keen eye. I can’t afford to lose either of ‘em.”

  
“I’ll _see_ that you don’t,” Lace deadpanned, fighting laughter and flexing just a little as she got up. The giggle took Dagna by surprise, but she couldn’t help herself. For a while, they sat in companionable silence. As the rest of the Chargers began to blearily shuffle out of their tents and poke at the fire, shivering in the last vestiges of the pre-dawn air, Dagna took a deep breath and exhaled, the worries she carried with her ebbing away with the smoke.  

* * *

  
One trek through a densely populated forest later, they found the Venatori camped on the edge. The sunlight glinting off their brightly polished silver pointy helmets through the foliage created the perfect beacon. No one could ever accuse them of being stealthy.

  
“For the Elder One!”

  
The leader shouted when they emerged, raising his sword high. The Chargers did what they did best and eagerly threw themselves into the fray. Lace stayed in front of Dagna, steadily firing arrows into the thick of the melee. At the sound of approaching hoofbeats, she quickly turned to cover her, only to lower her bow with a smile. Cassandra swept past them on a white charger, bellowing her challenge to the Venatori as she lunged forward. The dwarven archer with dark brown skin following her stood up in the saddle, flipped off her mount, and shot a volley of exploding arrows that rained down mercilessly with her own battle cry.

  
“For a good day for someone else to die!”

  
The Chargers roared in reply. She grinned at them, landing gracefully atop her mount.

  
“Boss! You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  
The Iron Bull boomed happily.

  
“You don’t know the half of it, big guy,” she replied breezily, brushing a few stray black hairs back towards her ponytail, then hopping down. “Tell you later. I’ll be watching your back if you need me.”

  
He smartly saluted her before lunging forward into the fight. Sidling over to the two other dwarves while attacking, she offered Dagna a quick handshake between shots. “You’re the arcanist, right? Dagna? Toril Cadash. Good to meet you. Thought there’d be less arrows involved.”

  
“I did, too,” she admitted.

  
“Still, no harm done. Don’t call me Inquisitor, please. I’m still getting used to the title.”

  
“Same here.”

  
The Inquisitor beamed.

  
“I think we’ll get along just fine.”  

  
“Pardon my intrusion,” Vivienne purred, sweeping in on her dracolisk and freezing the oncoming foot soldier attempting to interrupt them with a wave of her hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Dagna.”  

  
“Likewise.” She deftly uncorked a flask and offered it to her. “For that extra edge. It’s compound 41.”

  
“Oh, you are a marvel, my dear.”

  
Vivienne took it, poured some over a gloved hand, and quickly rubbed it over the crystal on her staff. Icicles the size of daggers quickly formed over it. With a deft twirl of her staff, they shot off, shattering shortly after they embedded in the bodies of the Venatori. Their pained howls rang through the air. The rest of the party startled as a whole, then winced. Thoroughly demoralized, the Venatori fell in short order.

  
“Good job, everyone!”

  
Toril chirped, slinging her bow back over her shoulder. “Lace, who’ve we got left?”

  
“Sister Leliana’s initial report said there were sixteen of them and we killed ten. The rest of them should be in there.” She gestured at the square-shaped building with worn, ancient columns in the distance.

  
“Really? Only six?” piped up the blonde elf in the red dress, critically examining an arrow before shoving it back in her quiver. “You should’ve said so earlier. Piece of cake, that. We’ll barely have to lift a finger.”

  
Did Dagna imagine the sultriness in her voice or did she want to find them both a quiet corner of the forest? A pertinent question, to be sure. Hoping no one would notice the bright pink flush that had spread across her face, she took a deep breath. It didn’t help.

  
“Dagna, this is Sera. Sera, Dagna,” Toril supplied helpfully. “Our arcanist.”

  
Sera’s smirk left Dagna short of breath. She just barely heard Toril introduce Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, former Right Hand of the Divine, and managed to follow along. Normally, that and First Enchanter Vivienne in the same room would have awed her, but the pattern of Sera’s freckles gave her far more interesting ideas to extrapolate upon. Judging by Sera’s expression, the feeling was mutual.

  
“All right,” Toril said with an air of finality, striding to the front. “Now that everyone knows everyone, let’s kick some ass.”

  
With no resistance, they entered the ground floor. The dust on the altar to Andraste and the Maker could have comfortably insulated a moderately sized Ferelden village for a long, bitter winter.

  
“Vints must be underground,” Toril said, nudging Lace with her elbow, a shit-eating grin slowly creeping across her face. “Looks pretty dead up here to me.”

  
The snort took Dagna by surprise. Cassandra grunted in disgust. Cackling along with her, The Iron Bull clapped Toril on the back. Everyone else exchanged long-suffering glances.  In silence, they found and opened the stone door on the back wall, descending into the darkness. Fortunately, the builders had mounted torches on every available surface. A collective gasp fell over them once all of them were lit.

  
“Wow,” Sera breathed, her fingers hovering over the intricate, extensively carved murals on the walls to trace the patterns. The paint still gleamed, despite the ages wearing it down. “Who would’ve thought this was here, right? Look at those creepy rocks, the ones with the horned helmets and beards and fur with their faces all scrunched up and screaming. They’re Avaar. We used to dare each other to touch them as kids for coppers.”

  
After investigating the alcoves under archways that dotted the balcony, Toril led them down the grand staircase that led into the center of the necropolis. Flanked by The Iron Bull and the Chargers, the party entered the large hallway to the right. They passed more alcoves as they continued to light their way down.

  
“Darling, that archway in the middle looks rather dubious,” Vivienne pointed out.

  
“We’ll just pop in and out really quick,” Toril assured her.

  
“We’ll stand guard,” The Iron Bull said, taking a step back. “My horns would knock that right out.”

  
“Appreciate you taking one for the team, Bull. We won’t be long.”

  
“Inquisitor—“

  
Cassandra protested, but Toril had already stepped through and motioned for the others.

  
“We’ll be fine, Cass.”

  
Following suit, on the other side, Lace brushed the dust off her forehead before looking up at the keystone. Sera stepped forward, then followed her gaze. The crack had widened, splintering off as it spread. No one had touched it, but Dagna had seen stone fissure that way on its own. That particular arch had just had too much to bear. Swaying back and forth, the keystone fell, headed straight for Sera’s head.

  
Dagna dove for Sera, tackling her out of the way of the crumbling ceiling. Behind them, Vivienne, Cassandra and Bull scrambled backwards. Stone and dust filled the hallway, separating them.

  
“Bit forward, innit?”

  
Sera wheezed faintly beneath her.

  
Dagna tried to take a breath and nearly choked on the dust. After half a minute, she managed to speak.

  
“Sorry. Force of habit. We had to deal with quakes below the surface all the time. Figured you didn’t want to be crushed to death.”

  
“Right,” Sera mumbled blearily into her tits, waving away the offered hand and pushing herself up once Dagna got off her and stood. “Not a good death to have. Almost as bad as dying with no breeches.”

  
Beside them, Lace and Toril stumbled unsteadily to their feet.

  
“Everyone all right?”

  
Toril asked, brushing a few stray hairs off her forehead and the dust off her face. Lace jerked her head yes, scanning their surroundings, her fists clenched. Behind her, Sera swore loudly and pulled an arrow from her quiver. Dagna stepped towards the darkness, squinting in the low light. One hand placed firmly against the wall, she edged forward until she found an unlit torch. A match flared to life in her hand. The lit torch revealed a corridor that stretched far back into the depths of the deep, unrelenting black found in the Deep Roads.

  
“Doesn’t look like any darkspawn have been in here,” Toril said aloud, as if reading her mind. “They tend to scratch up the walls and get things dirty. My gran said they’d have come as soon as they saw flame, anyway; that’s how they always knew when they lived below. Doubt they’d be this close to the border.”

  
Despite that, both of them listened for the telltale shrieks.

  
“INQUISITOR!”

  
“BOSS!”

  
All of them rushed to the pile of rubble, Sera frantically digging at the gravel at eye level.

  
“WE’RE OKAY!”  

  
Toril shouted back, scrambling up the rubble to help her. From the other side, they could hear the sounds of shifting rock and grunting. Between the four of them, they managed a hole just big enough to see through. Cassandra sagged in relief and Vivienne’s shoulders eased from their hunch when they saw them.

  
“The Iron Bull and the Chargers are clearing a path,” Vivienne clarified. “How do you feel? Any dizziness, shortness of breath?”

  
“We’re all a little stunned,” Toril said. “No one’s hurt. Our weapons are fine.”

  
 “Good. We will clear the rubble until enough of it is left that the mages can shift it away together without tiring themselves to the point of exhaustion,” Cassandra replied. “We will have you out before sunset.”

  
She turned and went to join them.

  
“I’m afraid there’s not much we can do in the meantime, my dears,” said Vivienne apologetically. “Do try to stay calm. We can pass through anything you might need. Scout Harding, will we have reinforcements should the sun set?”

  
“They’ll know,” she confirmed. “I told them to come looking if we didn’t show up.”

  
“Good,” said Toril, leaning back against the pile. “Least there aren’t any spiders in here with us.”

* * *

  
“Inquisitor.”

  
All of them stirred at the sound of Cassandra’s voice.

  
“We found the Venatori.”

  
“What was left of them,” Vivienne added coolly. “We were not the first to run afoul of this dreadful tomb, but I have no doubt it will outlast us as well as them. Judging by the Orlesian embossed symbols on the hilts and what little armor they possessed, these warriors were interred somewhere between the third Towers and fifth Exalted age.”

  
“So, old as balls,” The Iron Bull clarified. “We found two plaques mounted on the wall near the bodies. Seeker’s translating them now.”

  
“This is a very obscure dialect of Ancient Nevarran,” Cassandra mused aloud. “Not one I am familiar with. It must be local to this region. I recognize a few words, but the crucial one could either refer to the moniker of a local warlord at the time or a curiously suggestive slang term concerning a horse’s gait. The context does not help.”

  
“Could it be a mistake?” Toril suggested.

  
“Unlikely. At the very least, I have been able to ascertain that there were soldiers buried here. This favors the warlord. She would have been buried with fifty to seventy soldiers to protect her tomb. Most of them--”

  
Suddenly, a loud rumbling shook the foundations of the necropolis. 

   
“Did you hear that?”

  
Sera asked out of reflex as they steadied themselves against each other and the rocks.

  
“Hard not to.” Toril readied her bow. “Looks like we’ll be meeting her guard shortly. Dagna, you stay behind us. Everyone else, hit ‘em hard and hit ‘em fast.”

  
“Wait!”

  
Cassandra urgently exclaimed.  

  
“Refrain from explosives or particularly forceful shots. You cannot maim them significantly.”  

  
“What’re we supposed to do, then? Just shove ‘em off like someone’s frigging mabari?” Sera squawked, throwing her hands up in the air. “Oh, don’t mind him, big softy, really, just smells a bit like rotten corpse!”

  
“Even if we act in self-defense, marring the remains beyond recognition demonstrates a fundamental lack of respect for the beloved dead.” Cassandra wrinkled her nose. “Not a tenet of society here I personally agree with, but the diplomatic crisis would irrevocably damage Josephine’s efforts to prevent war between it and the Tevinter Imperium.”

  
Toril lifted her chin determinedly.

  
“So, joint wounds. Neck, shoulder, ankle, knee. Got it. We can hold the line.”

  
“If it’s small, we’ll probably have enough arrows between the three of us to keep them down,” said Lace, squaring her jaw. “There might be blockages on the lower floors. We probably won’t be dealing with all of them.”

  
The second ominous rumbling and the multitude of groans accompanying it suggested otherwise.

  
“I can see them!”

  
Dagna shouted, rummaging in her knapsack.

  
“Hold whatever you’ve got,” ordered Toril. “We don’t want to waste it if we don’t need it.”

  
The mob of undead lurched forward, unarmed but hostile, thick enough to fill the width of the hallway. Their groans echoed, drowning out any sounds coming from the other side. The three archers shot arrows as fast as they could, attempting to position them to take out as many as they could. The tide barely ebbed.

  
“Shite! There’s too many of them!” Sera yelled, ducking low as she fired a volley with the last of hers.

  
“I’m out of arrows, Inquisitor,” Lace said, making a concentrated effort to keep her breathing even.

  
“And we’ve still got five left. Fuck,” Toril swore with a ferocity only a former Carta enforcer could muster.

  
“Let me grab something that isn’t explosive!” Dagna said, reaching in her bag again. The fastest corpse in front plunged forward before anyone could yank her out of the way, swiping for her neck but grabbing hold of the bag instead. She screamed and tried to wrench herself away as it bore down on her in earnest, the foul stench of human flesh marinating in its own filth for centuries filling her nostrils.

  
Shepherding goats and sheep while trekking up and down mountains for years in Redcliffe had given Lace Harding arms that would give any warrior a run for their money. Her battle cry just this side of panicked, she lunged forward and bowled into the corpse in front of her, scooping it up and pushing it forward as hard as she possibly could.

  
Stunned, it yowled in panic as it flew through the air and hit the circle of its brethren, the rest of them tumbling down onto the stone floor. The undead lay there in a crumpled, dazed heap before slowly picking themselves up and shuffling off as hastily as they could back into the darkness. Bits of them dropped off as they scuttled away.

  
Sera broke first, bursting into hysterical cackling that brought tears to her eyes. She howled at the realization dawning on Lace’s face, her hands clapping over her mouth in absolute mortification.

  
“Sorry!”

  
She squeaked, dragging her hands down her cheeks.

  
“I’m sorry, Inquisitor! I panicked.”

  
“You saved our skins is what you did,” Toril replied not unkindly, returning to the group. “You bought us time. We’ve got five arrows now between the three of us, thanks to you. Well done, Scout Harding.”

  
Her straight face cracked once she met Sera’s eyes.

  
“Did you see all that?” She called, turning back to the hole in the rubble. “She just---“

  
Toril and Sera dissolved into laughter while Dagna stifled hers and sympathetically patted her shoulder.

  
“Well,” The Iron Bull rumbled from the other side. “That’s one way to face your fears.”

  
Lace buried her face in her hands.  

  
“Fear not, darling,” Vivienne said, a hint of laughter in her eyes, tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Sister Leliana will no doubt praise you for your rather…innovative method of protecting Dagna.”

  
“I agree,” Cassandra said. “She lived through a blight. I’m sure she has similar stories---“

  
The ground shook again.

  
“More? There’s more? Frigging piss shite, didn’t we go through enough!” Sera swore.

  
Lace found her voice as the first of them lurched forward from the darkness.

  
“Why are these ones armed?”

  
“Foot soldiers were buried with wooden weapons, not metal,” Cassandra clarified. “They rotted.”

  
“So these are the big guys. Great.” Toril let out a stream of curses that would’ve curled Cullen’s hair.

  
Squaring her shoulders, Dagna stepped forward.

  
“Inquisitor, I think this is where I show you what I can do.”

  
“We’ve got five arrows. Make it fast.”

  
Dagna dug through her bag as they fired into the mob and pulled out a flask.

  
“Everyone cover your mouth and nose! You too, other side. This won’t be pretty. We need to let them get in close, but don’t panic! If they’re not packed densely enough for the blast radius, this won’t work. ”

  
Swallowing, Lace nodded. Toril unsheathed her dagger, but said nothing. Sera moved closer to her as the undead crowded the hallway, angling her body to be able to shield Dagna if necessary. Reaching for her hand, Dagna gave it a brief squeeze.

  
“Just a bit more.”

  
 Shaking the flask vigorously, the stench of their bodies almost overwhelmed them.

  
“Duck and cover now!”

  
She shouted, launching it into the air. Hitting the floor right in the middle, it broke. A comparatively gentle boom shook the hallway, noxious thick black clouds swelling to cover the army before them. It cleared with pained yowls, the fallen skeletons futilely attempting to slowly crawl away from them.

  
“Oh, they’re dancing!” Dalish exclaimed, peering through the considerably larger hole before The Iron Bull gently nudged her aside.

  
“Yeah, I guess, since their nerves are all over the place right now,” Dagna said diplomatically. “They can’t control their limbs at all. This formula’s highly experimental. I just made it before I had to leave Tantervale on short notice. These guys’ll be back to normal in about a day. Anyone else who got hit…”

  
An unintentional moment of silence passed for the poor bastards who had the misfortune to be Carta assassins in Tantervale.

  
“You see, I’d gotten my hands on a recipe for saar-qamek and was fooling around. I wanted to see what I could do with it…” Dagna trailed off, but what was the point? She had already dug herself deeper.

  
“Vashedan,” The Iron Bull rumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Nehraa Koslun defransdim.”  

  
“What about Koslun’s intimate friends?” Sera asked suspiciously.

  
“We’ve got a conflict of interest,” Toril hazarded, and he nodded. “So, we’d better get rid of that here. We won’t mention it in our reports, he won’t mention it in his reports to Par Vollen, and we’re good.”

  
“Inquisitor,” Cassandra said, wiping the sweat from her brow. “We have finished clearing the path.”

  
“Good work. And we’ll go, just as soon as we take care of this.”

  
Dagna handed her the other flask and after ripping a page out of her notebook, gave it to her as well.

  
“That’s my last one, and the recipe.”

  
“Thanks for understanding. Will it hurt the formula if I stuff the recipe in here?”

  
“Nope. Not at all.”

  
Toril uncorked the flask, shoved the piece of paper down in it, and recorked it. Wrapping a cloth around her mouth and nose, she gave it the shaking of its life. ”Going to give the bastards one last gift,” she muttered. “Everyone cover your mouth and nose and be ready to book it as soon as I say so.”

  
With a mighty cry, she hurled with all her might down the hallway and into the darkness. Screeching rang through the air as they ran away, into the main hall, up the stairs, and out the door of the necropolis. The Chargers whooped jubilantly at the sight of the setting sun, their grins contagious. The breeze was welcome after several hours of being cooped up in the old, musty, and dangerous tomb. They sank down or lowered themselves gracefully to sit on the grass and rest before they had to move on.

  
“We made it.”

  
Relieved, Toril propped up one knee, then turned to Dagna, her smile fragile.

  
“Well. Welcome to the Inquisition. It’s a bit late to turn back now, but if you’re having second thoughts—“

  
“Are you kidding?”

  
Dagna giggled breathlessly, giddy, riding high off the triumph of her creation.

  
“I’ve never been surer of anything else in my life. No one would believe me if I told them what happened today. And that’s just today. I’ve got to be there for it. I want to be there for it, helping you. You saw what we can do together when I’m not as prepared. Imagine what it’ll be like when I’m prepared for what happens next.”

  
Toril stuck out her hand to shake, beaming.

  
“Welcome aboard, Dagna. Again. This calls for a celebration. Bull! I saw a tavern near the border. You think your Ben Hassrath training can wrangle us some drinks?”

  
“Sure thing. Couple casks of Chasind sack mead for the rest of you, a barrel for me—“

  
“No,” Toril interrupted him. “A barrel for me. I’m gonna crawl in it.”

  
“You’ll drown, boss.”

  
“No, I won’t. You’re my bodyguard. It’s your job to pull me out.”

  
She tapped her temple.

  
“I’ve thought this through. It’ll get the stink of the undead out.”

  
“Absolutely not,” Cassandra said flatly.

  
“It’ll be good for my hair?”

  
“Inquisitor, please,” Vivienne drawled, rolling her eyes. “We cannot allow you in all good conscience to return to Skyhold smelling like a tavern, and if you even dare attempt to argue that it’s not the worst thing you’ve ever smelled like, may I remind you that is _precisely_ not how you want Ambassador Montilyet to notice you.”

  
Taken aback, Toril held her gaze for a long moment, then shrugged.

  
“You’re right. Let’s go.”

* * *

  
 “Speech!”

  
“Chug!”

  
“Speech!”

  
“Chug!”

  
“Chug the speech!”

  
“Speech the chug!”

  
 The Chargers had gotten their streams crossed. Not unusual, Lace told her, when Chasind sack mead was involved. What started as cheering Toril on as she cracked into their first cask after praising their efforts today and welcoming Dagna into the Inquisition formally had devolved into excited chanting that would pause occasionally for drinks in-between. Unimpressed, Vivienne and Cassandra retired to their shared tent after the second round when Toril took the lead and the Chargers collectively forgot they were supposed to be chanting at her, not with her. The Iron Bull looked on indulgently, but Sera drew him into a private, rather intense conversation after the third time.

  
“They’ll settle down eventually,” Lace said, leaning against Krem’s shoulder. “Not like anyone’s going to hear us out here. If anyone’s really mad, they can brave the undead on the other side of the border.”

  
“At least it’s not anything rude this time,” Krem said, putting an arm around her.

  
“You should’ve heard the time they got rock and fuck crossed,” she snickered, her face red.

  
A flicker of annoyance shifted through Krem’s eyes.

  
“Precisely what I was trying not to talk about. That was the loudest we’ve gotten since that heated drunken debate between Skinner and Stitches in the Dales about whether Andraste had a dog.”

  
“What’s there to debate?”

  
“Well, you know Skinner’s Orlesian and Grim doesn’t really have an opinion on it—“

  
“Andraste had a dog, Krem,” Lace insisted fervently, tugging the neck of his shirt down to face him.

  
“I know, Lace.”   

  
“He was with her right up until the pyre,” she said, her eyes glimmering.

  
“I know, Lace. Please don’t cry.”

  
“Does she usually get this Fereldan when she’s deep in her cups?” Dagna asked.

  
“Only when she’s been through a lot. I’m surprised she and Stitches over there haven’t started singing Andraste’s Mabari yet,” he said, then turned back to her. “You’ve had a long day, Lace.”

  
“You’re right. I still can’t believe I did that. Everything happened today.”

  
Meandering back over, Dalish offered her a tin cup of water.

  
“Everything happens so much,” Lace said to her wonderingly, then took the cup and began to sip at it.

  
“We can take it from here if you’d like to go to bed,” Dalish told Dagna, plopping down beside her. “Chief and I never get hangovers. We’re usually sober enough to help Krem round up the rest of this lot.”

  
“Let me help you with her before I go.”

  
Between the three of them, they managed to drape her between Dagna and Dalish and get her to her tent. After Dalish left, Lace calmed and sobered as Dagna helped her disrobe to where she could sleep comfortably.

  
“Hey,” she said warmly, hugging her, forehead bumping against hers. “Thanks again for today.”

  
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Get some rest.”

  
Dagna never thought she would have said anything like that to someone she had been trapped in a Nevarran necropolis with after having fought off more undead than anyone should ever have to in their life.

  
Then again, she certainly wasn’t expecting to find a cute, blonde naked elf lounging atop her bedroll upon returning to her tent.

  
“Hey you. Life saver. Saver of the day.” She giggled. “You’ve been saving our arses all over the place. Wasn’t sure I’d get to catch you alone.”

  
“Um,” Dagna started, fiddling with her hands. “I’m…sure you would’ve done the same for me.”

  
“Like what you see, then?”

  
Sera grinned, lightly tracing a hand down her chest. Hypnotized, Dagna followed it with her gaze.

  
“Should hope so. This bit’s tricky. Been kicked out on my arse before for this. Anyway, seeing as you’re being welcomed and all now that we’re not stuck underground arse deep in undead, I wanted to thank you properly.”

  
_Oh no_. Her freckles _did_ go all the way down.

  
Slowly, Dagna took off her boots and sat down beside her on the bedroll, trying to keep her voice even.

  
“So, what’s that entail?”

  
“I stay naked. You get naked.  We get in here together and I make you scream till morning. Or whatever it takes to loosen you up. I don’t mind a cuddle with someone warm and alive after seeing all those dead, skinny bits.” Sera wrinkled her nose, attempted seduction forgotten, and made a face. “Eurgh.”

  
This elf would be the death of her.

  
“So,” Dagna said, stripping off the two layers of her dress and undershirt before taking off her trousers. No one could take off their boots or hose entirely graceful, but she did her best. Fully nude, she leaned forward with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Looks like we’re set. Why don’t you start thanking me?”  

  
Sera’s hands cupped her face, stroking down her neck as she kissed her. Tongues came into play, hands wandered where they would, and, shivering as Sera began to mark her territory in earnest, Dagna rolled over.

  
She never really got up, but that’s another story.

  
What mattered was this: Skyhold at sunset, a contingent of soldiers and scouts accompanying the advisors as they greeted them. The ambassador’s pleased flush as Toril took her hands and kissed them in greeting, Leliana’s knowing smirk as she welcomed Dagna into the fold. Scout Lace Harding standing up just a little straighter as she recounted their adventure, Maryden and Varric surreptitiously taking notes. The three of them in the Herald’s Rest, pints as big as their heads, joking and laughing. Happy, satisfied, despite whatever opinions Orzammar might have on the subject.

  
What had they to fear now, these daughters of the Stone?

  
Of its own accord, the road had slowed down to meet their feet.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Hello, hello, hello. 
> 
> First off, I want to thank you for letting me write this. This piece is the first exchange I've ever done and I took a bit of a hiatus from anything that wasn't super short before launching into it. I've also never written anything this long, so that's another first. Terry Pratchett's Discworld was a tremendous inspiration that fostered my love of writing and dwarves, so if I've written this with half the warmth, wit, and humor that he conveyed in his books, I've done my job. 
> 
> Some minor translations: salroka-friend, and vashedan, nehraa Koslun defransdim--roughly what I came up with 'for the love of/sake of the prophet Koslun's balls', the impetus that spurs The Iron Bull to write back to Par Vollen and insist the Ben Hassrath put a moratorium on dwarves touching any Qunari technology until the return of glorious Koslun just to be safe. I almost had a scene where Rocky tried to entice Dagna into helping him recreate gaatlok but Bull deterred them through looming over them and rumbling 'Don't' ominously, but like a lot of the scenes that didn't make it in here, it was for the better. Instead, you get to see him help Sera decide if it's worth showing up naked in Dagna's bedroll. 
> 
> Spoiler alert: it was totally worth it. I had a lot of fun writing those two getting together for the first time. 
> 
> I actually started writing this and your Vivienne character study prompt in tandem near the beginning because I wasn't sure which I had stronger feelings for, but this one ended up overtaking the other almost immediately. This was originally intended to be a series of vignettes meditating on dwarven identity politics, but I didn't feel it was interesting enough without some groundwork laid. I joked to one of my dearest friends about having someone throw one undead at the rest and having them fall like a house of cards and when he told me 'make it Harding', I realized that I didn't actually have a better plot in mind, and here we are. 
> 
> Figuring out the wordplay for the bog unicorn was actually the most difficult part of this; that joke belongs to a friend of mine who graciously let me use it after I agonized over it for a day. I started a whole new playthrough for Toril. I had a lot of fun making and writing her. I wasn't too attached at the start, but it's almost a certainty she'll show up again. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to create her. 
> 
> I've been checking your Tumblr periodically; I hope talking through my process helped brighten your day a little. I'm not done rambling about this yet, but I'll leave that for the comment section. Thank you again for letting me be your creative partner! I hope you enjoy reading this monster as much as I did writing it.


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